


feels like falling

by refuted



Category: The Originals (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-12 17:38:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11166771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/refuted/pseuds/refuted
Summary: A couple times Freya and Keelin feel stuff.





	feels like falling

**Author's Note:**

> Because really we're not given enough to fill the gap between "I'd love to show you my gratitude" and "You are perfect."

_**/ one** _

She wants to rip Freya's throat out and she wants to jump her bones.

It's a strange mix of feelings.

 

* * *

  __

_**/ two** _

Freya treats her wounds and offers her a deal.

Which, she realizes, isn't much of a deal if she doesn't have a choice in the terms. Keelin considers taking an opportunity to maybe just kill her and be done with it, but she's fairly happy with her brain how it is, unmelted.

She's also lost the urge to try, isn't quite sure when that started to happen.

(Keelin tells herself she's drawn to that kind of family loyalty, but really she suspects it has something to with the fact that she's always been a sucker for pretty ladies with healing hands.

Typical.)

 

The belltower is stuffy and offers a poor excuse for a bed, but it's better than a muzzle and a barn in the middle of nowhere. Freya checks in on her every hour or so and Keelin isn't sure if it's in earnest or to make sure she's staying put.

She toys with her ring, thinks of Freya's breath at her knuckles.

"Anything?" she hears Freya say eventually. Isn't sure if it's directed at her until she looks up, meets deep green eyes looking back at her.

Keelin shakes her head. She gets up to stretch, sighs so deeply her ribs ache a little.

"You should take a break," she offers in a tone that sounds somewhere along the lines of concern. "Get some fresh air."

She supposes that takes care of one question.

They make a breakthrough sometime after sundown, after hours hunched over spellbooks and medical journals, and for all they've done, she's not really sure what is it they've broken through to. Keelin doesn't even remember what she said that gave way to the witch's epiphany, but she'll take it. Freya seems pleased enough, ruffling through her desk for a half-finished bottle of Patrón to drive the point home. She offers Keelin first swig; it tastes bitter and hot on her tongue, pushing a welcome heat down her throat, and just like that she likes her a lot more. Or maybe dislikes her a lot less. Isn't sure where the two meet.

 

She is drunk.

Keelin is by no means a lightweight, but she is _drunk._ And Freya might be too, except her words don't slur and her blinks don't last seconds on end. She does, however, press close to her as she reaches for the glass and her breath flicks at her ear when she says it might be time to call it a night.

"May as well finish the bottle," Keelin hears herself say.

"As you wish." Freya traces a path with her eyes, down the length of her and back up, and if she isn't drunk, Keelin might have to think that her feelings may not be so inappropriate after all.

Well.

 

* * *

  __

_**/ three** _

In a bar, past midnight. After a party and an execution, Freya takes them to a sanctuary of sorts. A place to keep Keelin from wasting a perfectly nice dress on an evening cut short by another Mikaelson temper. To keep the night from ending when she's only just started to enjoy it.

Freya's come to feel at home under the riffs and licks of a sax and the warm vibrations of a bassline that comes and goes and comes again. Keeps her thoughts occupied; keeps her from her own mind. She doesn't quite know the song, but tries to hum along anyway, finding a steady rhythm in the thrums of an old jazz tune. It's her favorite place to be, worlds away from the closest family crisis.

Keelin leans back against the bar as they wait for their drinks, looks at her with something she doesn't quite recognize. Borders something like want, a bit of challenge in her eyes and Freya wonders when that started to change. She thinks of Keelin asleep on the cot, looking so soft in the thick of dreams. She pictures the look that develops when she forgets to hide her disappointment at the impending departure.

Wonders what to make of Keelin's change of mind.

"You alright?"

Her cheeks feel hot, her eyes heavy, and Keelin's touch lingers when she hands her a glass of red. She thinks she just might read into that.

Freya nods. "Never better."

She takes a liberty then, slipping her hand along the small of Keelin's back as she leads them to a couple of empty seats. Keelin doesn't seem to mind this.

They sit across from each other at a small table, hidden away at the back of the bar. Their knees bump every now and then and after a while, Keelin stops pulling away from the contact. (She'll read into that, too.)

 

* * *

 

_**/ four** _

Moments where time feels sticky, slow and deathly:

Freya, still and slain on the ground of an apartment with its door wide open, a display for all to see. A Mikaelson, defeated.

Freya, breathless under the weight of her palms.

Freya, pushing her away as she kneels over one of her kind with a throwaway farewell that sounds something along the lines of a _fuck off._

 

Moments that end too soon, that become a memory she repeats over and over in her mind like a weathered poem:

 _Keelin_ , and a tug, and a kiss.

A kiss and a kiss and a kiss.

 

* * *

  

_**/ five** _

Freya finds her an apartment that isn't exactly close to the Mikaelson compound, but isn't exactly not close to it. There is running water, a fridge, a lack of splinters around every other flat surface.

It's perfect.

The bed fits two and then some, and Keelin christens it with a good dive, timbering face first onto the mattress as it gives way without so little as a creak. Freya looks on in silence, smiles that smile she has when she's surprised.

It's an unfamiliar expression that Keelin tries harder than she'd like to admit to coax out again and again, when the lines around her mouth disappear and her eyes lighten and her face softens wholly. She likes this Freya, wants to get to know more of her.

Perhaps later.

Keelin turns over and props herself on her elbows, watching Freya watch her.

"Come here," she says.

There are a thousand things to do. She has no food, needs to figure out how much she actually wants a dining table (a couch would suffice), and Freya's probably got somewhere to be, even when she acts like she doesn't.

Freya looks back at her like she's weighing a decision, stands like she's got the weight of her family's world on her shoulders. Keelin figures it might do them both good to take some of that tension away.

Keelin holds Freya's gaze, licks her lips, slowly. She repeats.

(There it is again, soft and warm, foreign.)

This time, Freya obeys, laying her palms at the foot of the bed and easing forward as Keelin watches her movements eagerly. Keelin parts her legs, hooks her calf around the back of Freya's thigh and pulls. Freya cooperates fully, settling into the v between her knees as her arms straddle Keelin's waist.

Freya's fingers are warm as they skim up her cheek, as they ghost behind her neck, into her hair.

Freya is gentle when she slips into her space, growing less so as she licks into her mouth and bites her bottom lip. It stings as she drags her teeth away, moving up to plant a slippery trail of kisses along her jaw, her temple. Freya holds her at the waist and runs her palms up her stomach, touches her like she’s trying to memorize the whole of her.

Keelin thinks she'd like to let that happen.

 

* * *

  

_**/ six** _

She finds Keelin leaning against the doorway to her balcony, eyes closed, head tilted up. The full moon soaks her skin in blue, bathing her in an ethereal glow. Freya takes a moment to admire the sight.

It is unseasonably cool, offering a brief respite from the impending summer suffocation. There is a bottle of bourbon tucked away somewhere, ready to be shared. Below, she can hear the humdrum of a crowd strolling through the quarter. In the distance, the sounds of laughter. The makings of a perfect evening.

Freya steps in behind Keelin, arms wrapping around her at the waist. Keelin leans back into her, rests her hands over Freya's arms, and Freya considers staying like this forever. (Feels like a dream, soft edges and possibilities to infinity. There is safety in the embrace of Keelin Malraux and she might never want to leave it.)

"I've dreamt about this moment."

She can feel Keelin's words humming into her chest, mixing in with the warmth of her cheek as she presses into her, tilts her head back for a kiss. "Never thought I'd enjoy a full moon again."

Freya remembers an impossibly long and dreamless sleep spent mulling over nevers, at once powerful and powerless in her own body. She supposes they have that in common.

Keelin examines the moonlight ring on her finger, twisting it with her thumb. It reminds her of a deal; makes her want to spend the rest of her life making amends for the chains and for the cure she dangled over her like nothing.

Tonight, she thinks, is a good opportunity.

"What do you want to do with the evening?"

Keelin makes a sound that comes off like a hum, like a purr. A deep, low thing that starts somewhere in her chest, Freya can feel it come out. Keelin turns to look at her, and she'd be sorry about the loss of warmth, except she likes the way Keelin looks back at her, dragging her gaze up from her mouth to her eyes. She's never seen it before, wants to know what it is she can do to bring it out again and again and again.

"Dinner," she starts, smiling. "Then, you."

 

* * *

  

_**/ seven** _

Freya, standing at her doorway with a bottle of bourbon in hand and dried blood along half her face.

Earlier she gets a call, sneaks off into a supply closet to hear what sounds like a goodbye and it scares her. Reminds her of a nightmare.

Tonight, Freya makes it back to her and the relief is unexpected and overwhelming. She supposes this is somewhat of a norm now.

"Hi," Freya says in a half-whisper.

Keelin lets her in, receives a kiss that is soft and sad and tinges of copper.

"Should I see the other guy?"

Freya proffers what might be her attempt at a smile, but it falters at the corners of her mouth. No more jokes tonight, then.

"Can I take a look at that?" Keelin tries instead, stepping into her space.

Freya nods, leaning in for another kiss first. This one is slow, languid. (Sadder, still.)

She doesn't quite recognize this Freya, isn't sure what to make of her. "Are you okay?"

Freya gazes at her a moment, silent.

Then,

"It looks worse than it feels."

It's not what she meant, but Keelin figures that she knows. She can push the subject another time.

For now, she'll help another way.

 

"I can't stay tonight."

"Stay for a little while."

Keelin takes her hand, leading them into the bedroom. She shimmies out of her jeans, relishing, just a little in the attention it gets. Freya smiles.

"Just for a little bit," she concedes.

Freya fits nicely in front of her, feels just right, nestled in her arms. After a while, she rolls over, tucking herself under Keelin's chin.

"Thank you," she says, into her chest.

Keelin hums, pulling her in a little tighter.

 

Freya lingers in the doorway, looking at her like she's contemplating a goodbye. "I'll see you later," she says quietly, turning to leave.

Keelin takes her hand, tugs her back. She kisses her deeply and without hesitation and this Freya, she recognizes, kissing her back with a smile and a bit of bite.

She suspects this whole visit might have been an attempt at a farewell.

Keelin won't let her off so easily.


End file.
